Fatal Revenant

dreadful beyond any estimation. It will be no mere Ritual of Desecration. With Loric’s krill, you will strive toward an end too absolute and abominable to be endured.

“Therefore you must forswear your purpose,” he finished in a harsh whisper. “If you do not, I must incur your death, though Cail’s blood in my veins demands to serve you. You will extinguish hope forever in the Earth.”

Esmer had answered her. But he gave her nothing.

And she did not believe him: not entirely. Linden, find me. She was convinced that Esmer and Kastenessen-and Roger-wanted to prevent her from reaching Thomas Covenant among the Dead.

The one Swordmain whose name she did not know went down: Linden could not tell whether she would stand again. Somehow the remaining Giants, the four Haruchai, and Mahrtiir prevented the skurj from swarming over the crest. But with each strike, their incinerating crimson fangs reached deeper among the defenders. Bhapa, Pahni, and Anele had all been scorched with fetid blood.

And Linden could not fight for them. She had no power. Esmer stood in front of her like a mute wail, quelling any possibility of wild magic.

While she reeled, helpless to save herself, helpless to save anyone, she heard a massive concussion like a crash of thunder.

She had not seen the sky grow dark; had not noticed the daylight failing until only incandescent fangs and the orcrest’s pure radiance illuminated the battle. But when raindrops splashed her face, she looked up and saw thunderheads boiling overhead.

Elsewhere there were no clouds: only the vicinity of the tor was covered in storm. Nevertheless the thunderheads were swollen and livid, flagrant with lightning and wind and violence-

— and rain.

When she spun toward Liand, saw him standing with the orcrest clenched over his head, she realised what he had done.

Stave had confirmed that the Sunstone could be used to cause weather-

Liand held the Staff in the crook of his elbow. His other hand gripped the hand of the ur-vile loremaster palm to palm. Both his human skin and the loremaster’s black flesh were crusted with blood.

Oh, God, Linden thought, oh, God, remembering how the ur-viles shared their strength and clarity. The loremaster must have cut its own palm as well as Liand’s; mingled its blood with his; infused him with its weird lore and puissance.

With blood, the Demondim-spawn had shown him how to create a storm. They had made him able to do so, in spite of their own suffering in proximity to the Staff.

Rain! Water-It was a weapon. Wind and thunder and lightning meant nothing: those elemental forces could not deter the skurj. But rain-!

As soon as she understood what Liand was doing, Linden knew that he would fail. He had already surpassed all of his limits-and his Sunstone had not shattered. But no mere shower would cool or daunt the terrible fires of the skurj. He had achieved more than she could have imagined. Nevertheless he simply did not have enough power

The Staff did not belong to him. It was hers: she had made it. Caerroil Wildwood had incised it with unfathomable implications, and had returned it to her.

“Liand!” she yelled as she scrambled over the rocks toward him. “That’s brilliant! You’re brilliant!

“Give me the Staff!

Esmer made a sound like keening or exultation; but he did not leave the mound.

She feared that Liand would not hear her. He had immersed himself utterly in his efforts; in his orcrest and her Staff and the loremaster’s blood. He may have gone beyond hearing.

But as she neared him, he unfolded his elbow to release the Staff.

Suddenly one of the monsters toppled, yowling, as if its serpentlike body had been cut in half. With a rage as loud as the massed thunder, Longwrath climbed onto the crest.

Anointed and annealed by the gore of the creature that he had slain, his flamberge steamed in the gathering fall of rain.

Without hesitation, he sprang at Linden. His great size and strength carried him toward her in three strides. His sword wheeled to send her head spinning far from the tor.

In the same instant, Stave hurled a large rock that struck the side of Longwrath’s head. The impact staggered the mad Swordmain. He missed his footing; fell involuntarily to one knee with the tip of his blade inches from Linden’s face.

Desperately Grueburn and Coldspray converged on Longwrath. Grueburn grappled for his sword-arm while Coldspray kicked him in the jaw.

Linden heard a snapping sound that may have been Longwrath’s neck; but she did not falter. She was already shouting, “Melenkurion abatha!” as she snatched the Staff from Liand. “Duroc minas mill!” At once, Earthpower and Law poured through her as though she had uncapped a geyser. “Harad khabaal!”

With every ounce of her passion and purpose, she reached for Liand’s storm. Wielding her fire like a scourge, she flailed at the rain until it become torrential.

Between heartbeats, she transformed Liand’s showers. At once, they became a downpour so heavy that she seemed to have torn open an ocean in the sky. Water pounded the stones with such force that it nearly knocked her from her feet. Everything around her was inundated, hammered, bludgeoned, as if she stood directly under the cascade of the Mithil’s Plunge.

Now there was no light at all apart from the fire of the Staff and the laval gaping of the monsters’ fangs. Liand had collapsed. The loremaster held him while a Waynhim retrieved his quenched orcrest and returned it to its pouch at his waist.

Linden could no longer hear thunder: the torrent was louder. Rain swept the voices of her companions away. Only the furious consternation of the skurj pierced the downpour. They were creatures of magma and fire, stone and earth. They would not have survived if they had been dropped into the Sunbirth Sea. The whipped weight and ferocity of Linden’s rainstorm did not kill them. But it erupted into steam in their mouths. Crimson fume burst from their teeth. Explosive gouts of superheated vapour tore at their fangs, their flesh, while their necessary heat cooled. When they swallowed, they swallowed water as if it were poison.

The sheer mass of the rain forced them to close their jaws. Then it drove them to eat their way into the ground, seeking an escape from the pummelling torrents.

Linden’s fire was all that remained to light her companions.

She could not blink fast enough to keep her vision clear. She could scarcely hold up her head. Through a cataclysm of water, she barely saw two of Longwrath’s guards clamber onto the crest. She heard nothing while the Giants yelled at each other, making swift decisions. She was focused heart and soul on the Staff and the storm. If Esmer remained or vanished, she did not notice it. She was only distantly aware that the Waynhim and ur-viles had scattered. She had no attention left for anything except rain.

If she could sustain this downpour-

Without disturbing Linden’s concentration, Grueburn lifted her from her feet. Stonemage cradled Liand like a sleeping child. Galesend carried Anele while Cabledarm bore Pahni. Still gripping the stump of her lost arm, Kindwind squatted so that Mahrtiir could climb her back, cling to her shoulders. One of Longwrath’s guards took Bhapa. The other and Coldspray supported Longwrath between them.

Leaving one Giant dead on the peak and another presumably lost to Longwrath’s madness, the Swordmainnir and the Haruchai descended the tor in a perilous rush and ran south.

Chapter Eleven: The Essence of the Land

When the company had passed out from under the downpour into the ambiguous shelter of the trees, the Giants paused-briefly, briefly-so that Linden could shift her attention to healing.